


Hand Holding

by hato



Series: Untitled Series [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that John held Sherlock's hand. One he doesn’t remember. And one he’ll never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand Holding

**1.**   Sherlock remembers the first time John held his hand.  
  
Another case solved. Another Chinese dinner at their usual establishment. Sherlock  practically inhales his share of the dim sum. John sets a more sedate pace for his meal.  His own plates empty, Sherlock begins stealing dumplings from John. John seems nonplussed by the theft.  
  
Until Sherlock reaches for the last prawn shu-mai.  
  
Lightning quick. And Sherlock’s fingers are gripped almost painfully tight around his chopsticks, John’s calloused hand closed firm around them.  A challenging gaze.  
  
Sherlock smirks and orders more dumplings.  
  
John chuckles and lets go.  
  
  
 **2**.  Sherlock remembers the first time John held his hand at home.  
  
 _“ Christ, Sherlock!”  
  
“ I don’t think we need involve that fellow, do we, John?”_   
  
John forces him to sit on the toilet lid while he gatheres his medical supplies. Sherlock makes the obligatory protests as John begins removing the glass shards from his palms and fingers. Then hushes, seeking distraction.  
  
Such as...  
  
John smells good. Sweat and antiseptic. Tea and damp wool.  
  
John’s hands are warm and steady. Dry callused skin cradling the back of Sherlock’s hand.  Tweezers wielded with deft precision. Sliding the slivers of glass from flesh. Fresh blood welling up. Peroxide. Gauze.  
  
All very professional.  
  
Except the gentle caress of John’s thumb across his knuckles.  
  
  
 **3**.  Sherlock remembers the first time John held his hand in the rain.  
  
Pouring for days. Lakes on the pavement and greens. Running after an arsonist (bit wet for that type of work, but the suspect had managed it beautifully) across the runway at Heathrow.  
  
Ankle deep water and a bit of muck and Sherlock goes down. Hard.    
  
John is right there. Squeezing his hand. Hard.  
  
Sherlock shakes his drenched head. “ Go! Go!”  
  
And John hesitates, crouching in the mud. Blatant concern. Fingers clenched around Sherlock’s palm.  
  
Lestrade sprints past them. Panting heavily.  
  
Sherlock pries John’s fingers away. Shoves him in the same direction as Lestrade. “ GO!”  
  
John stumbles. Turns. And runs.  
  
Sherlock flinches and struggles to his feet.  
  
  
 **4.** Sherlock remembers the first time John held his hand in public.  
  
It’s the height of rush hour when they leave the crime scene. No cash for a cab. Sherlock insists they can walk. John disagrees.  
  
On the Tube they’re crushed into the back of a car and Sherlock is suffocating. Mind spinning madly. Too many distractions. Too hot. Too loud.  _Can’t breathe..._  
  
Then John shuffles backward, crowding him further into the corner. Reaching back, grabbing Sherlock’s hand in a determined grip. Thumbs hooked.  A moment of panic before Sherlock understands.  
  
John’s aftershave. Back of John’s head. John’s voice. John’s back carefully pressing against his chest.  
  
Shielded from the chaos, senses filled with John’s presence.  
  
Sherlock ignores the looks as he leans forward and rests his head on the broad shoulder.  
  
  
 **5.**  Sherlock remembers the first time John held his hand after sex, fingers intertwined...  
  
  
  
 **1.** Sherlock doesn’t remember John holding his hand after he jumped from Bart’s.  
  
He’s not sure why. It’s all very sharp in his mind until he hits the asphalt. Then it’s black. Then grey. And then Molly is standing over him.  He doesn’t remember the interim. Not exactly part of the plan.  
  
Mycroft hands him a thumb drive the week he returns to Baker Street.  
  
Sherlock watches the security surveillance footage of his theatrical suicide jump.  
  
He watches John in the immediate aftermath.  
  
He calmly deletes the file and stumbles to the toilet to vomit.  
  
  
 **1.**  The second week after his return, Sherlock hears unsteady footsteps on the upper landing. Creak of the banister.  John coming downstairs. Trying to be quiet.  
  
Nightmares again.  
  
Sherlock knows John is going to try to sneak a look into the darkened sitting room, assure himself that Sherlock is still there with his laptop and taxidermy manuals, and sneak back up to his room where he will continue to be a shaky, frightened mess until dawn.  
  
Unacceptable.  
  
Before John can peer around the corner, Sherlock has him by the arm. Dragging him inside, to lie on the sofa. He ignores John’s protests. Frowns at his red-rimmed eyes. The afghan is tossed over the sturdy figure and Sherlock sits on the floor, leaning back against the now occupied sofa.  
  
Focuses on his laptop. But he reaches to the side and snakes his arm around John’s.  
  
Folds his hand around John’s hand, tucked under his chin.  
  
Holding him steady, soothing the desperate clutching. Attempts to apologize for John’s fears through touch alone.  
  
John releases an exhausted sigh, tension disappearing.  Slips almost immediately back to sleep.  
  
Sherlock remembers to breathe again. Gently brushes his thumb along John’s stubble-rough jaw. Happily settles in for what he hopes is a long, restful sleep for his lover.  
  
Sherlock will never forget the first time he held John’s hand through the night.  
  
 **end**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone he reads, kudos' and comments!!!


End file.
